


The Need To Know

by Bronte_Esperanza



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Bonding, F/M, Soul-Searching, hard truths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-17 01:59:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14823060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bronte_Esperanza/pseuds/Bronte_Esperanza
Summary: Gaby asks Illya for the truth, but neither are prepared for its internal consequences.





	The Need To Know

**Author's Note:**

> This originally started out to be just a bit about Gaby asking Illya a tough question. The dialogue took on a life of its own with Illya questioning how reasonable his beliefs were and Gaby realizing she could no longer hate him.
> 
>  
> 
> This is my first post. I welcome comments and critiques. I hope you enjoy.

Gaby had time to think. Time that she didn’t need or want to think. The mission was hard and she was battered and bruised. Illya had kindly fixed her a bath and had a drink ready for her after her soak.

She had offered to return the kindness, but he simply sat her down on the balcony, saw that she was comfortable, and told her to enjoy and relax.

Relaxing meant downtime. Downtime meant thinking. Thinking meant honesty. Honesty meant trouble.

Gaby went over the entire events of the past five days. Day one - a peaceful day at the garage with no indication that her mission would be hastened by a certain CIA agent. _At last, my patience was wearing thin._ Day two - Engaged to the Russian behemoth who chased her and Napoleon through the streets of Berlin the night before. Tackled said Russian to the floor in shared hotel room. _Don’t think about how his hands felt._ Day three - Party and reconnaissance at the Vinceguerra’s. She almost lost Illya in a boat explosion. _Don’t think about the what ifs._ Day four - Saw her father for the first time in eighteen years. More angry than nostalgic. Rescued by Illya and Napoleon. Almost lost Illya when Alexander Vinceguerra ran his motorcycle off the road. _Don’t pretend you weren’t scared._ Day five - Taken care of and spoiled by both Napoleon and Illya as all three physically recovered from their various bruises. _It was nice to be taken care of._ Day six - Informed that they were now partners. _Don’t pretend you’re not thrilled._

__

__

She was deep in her thoughts when she heard Illya ask, “May I join you? Or would you rather be alone?”

“No, no,” Gaby smiled, “Please join me.” _Why did he have the ability to make her feel like a lovestruck teenager?_

She patted the seat next to her and Illya shyly sat next to her. _Why did she have the ability to make him feel like a lovestruck school boy?_

Gaby looked at Illya sideways and decided that knowing was better than not knowing. Or guessing. Or whatever. The truth may hurt, but....

“May I ask you a question?” she started. 

Illya looked down at his drink and nodded yes, slowly and unsurely, as if he knew what was coming.

Gaby switched to her mother tongue. Of course it would be easier to express herself in German.

“Before I ask and you agree, please know that I want the brutally honest truth. I would much rather have the truth and suffer the fallout, than be blissful with a lie. We are expected to work together after all.”

They were both silent for awhile. Gaby afraid to hear the truth and Illya afraid to speak it. Gaby looked hard into her drink before speaking.

“The first night we met...were you sent to kill me?

She looked up then, but not at Illya. She wanted to hear the truth, but wasn’t sure if she was prepared to see the truth in his eyes. Illya didn’t look at her. He quietly sipped his drink while staring off into the distance.

“No,” he finally answered. “I was sent to bring you in...and to stop anyone who got in the way.”

“Meaning kidnap me and kill Napoleon.” Leave it to Gaby to shoot from the hip.

“Yes.” What else could he say? It was the truth. The mission was quite clear. Bring in Udo Teller’s daughter for questioning (both Illya and Gaby knew what that meant) and kill Cowboy. Of course, he wasn’t Cowboy then. He was interference.

Again, silence. Too long for Illya’s comfort, but this was Gaby’s round. He would wait in silence for as long as she needed to process.

“Illya?” Gaby’s voice sounded almost hollow in breaking the silence. “Do we both know what would have happened had you been successful that night?”

Illya didn’t look at Gaby. He looked at his drink while swishing around the ice and with the pursing of his lips, nodded ‘Yes’.

“I thought so.”, was all she said draining her glass of its contents.

With that, they were pulled apart from one another. Again.

Without a word or a glance Gaby got up and walked back into their room. Illya was left alone to work out what was happening.

He realized, with brutal clarity, that he had allowed himself to feel something for Gaby. He had allowed his role, as her fiance, to become more than just an assignment. He had played the fiance before without complications or feelings. So, why was this different? What made the Rome assignment with Udo Teller’s daughter a fiction wanting to become a fantasy, wanting to become real?

Gaby. Plain and simple. Gabriella Teller was a force of nature and one to be reckoned with. She became much more than a mark. She was his strong chop shop girl. _His?_ The one who dared wrestle him to the ground. The only woman to ever see him in his fits and not bat an eye. The only one who could tame those episodes. _When did he start going soft?_

Napoleon saw it before he did and Cowboy was a terrible spy.

Illya sat still on the balcony long after Gaby went inside. Too many thoughts, too many what ifs.

He was a machine. The KGB had trained him to be one. Cowboy could see that and now he was afraid that Gaby could see that also.

He was a monster. The KGB fostered that. And now, Gaby knew his awful truth.

Illya could see no way out of this for him or Gaby. He is what he was made to be with no thought of a future outside of that. He wasn’t even sure that the words love, hope, and joy were EVER uttered to him except by his mother. He certainly never used them. Did that mean that he was only lovable to a mother? He had always wondered, but had never before considered it important enough to ponder. Now with thoughts of Gabriella Teller filling his waking moments, it was a question that he found needed an answer.

Illya’s assignment had been simple. Bring in Udo Teller’s daughter for “questioning”. Only questioning meant something different to the KGB. Working with Napoleon had taught him that. He had never thought to really question the operations of his organization. He had been brought up to believe that all was in working order for the “good of the state”.

All methods of interrogation were appropriate, otherwise it would not have been necessary.

Napoleon beating him to Gaby was the catalyst to prompt Illya’s questioning. Illya just assumed (or more like, was led to believe) that the CIA operated the same way as the KGB when it came to interrogations. Instead, Gaby was treated to a ride over the wall, risotto, and a designer wardrobe. This would not have been how the KGB would have handled this. Not the Russian way. He didn’t pretend to think that the CIA was not without its questionable behaviors, but he was certain that they were, on the whole, a less violent operation.

As to Cowboy, Illya was certain beyond doubt that his partner’s actions NEVER contained any of the violence that Illya was used to.

Illya knew better.....

He would have brought her in as required. He would have brought her in at night. the best working time for interrogation. People were less likely to face their fears under cover of night. There would have been no talking between them during the ride to headquarters. _Intimidation._

_With his stature and physique and tendency towards brooding, Illya knew that this alone usually prompted cooperation. Who wanted to be left in a room alone with him? He can’t imagine even Gaby’s bravery not wavering in the face of his scowls. For a man, he knew that his presence represented a good beating. For a woman, rape._

Gaby would have been shoved into a cold room with a naked lightbulb. That naked lightbulb was not intended to provide relief from the darkness, instead it was meant to assault the eyes in so harsh a manner that a person had a hard time thinking rationally which only added to their fear. 

Gaby would be made to wait for hours before anyone would come to her. Hungry, cold, tired, and scared, she would break without a hitch. They would get what they needed from her and because of who her father was, one of two scenarios were likely. One: The information she would have provided would lead them to her uncle which in turn would lead to her father. They would keep her alive for Udo Teller’s future cooperation. Two: The information would lead them to her uncle which in turn would lead to her father. She would be shot at dawn.

All this, Illya knew he would have had a hand in and probably would have even been the one to eliminate her.

Without having known Gaby, it would not have occurred to him to give his actions a second thought. It would all be done for the good of the state and who was he to question. He was a son to Mother Russia.

Oh yes! Illya had been trained well.

But now. Now there were doubts, and questions and shame. Yes, shame. And with shame came guilt.

_I AM a monster._

Even with that admittance, he knew that there was no turning back. He would either have to give up on U.N.C.L.E. and return to Russia and continue to be who he was OR; know that he could no longer be that, defect and suffer the consequences of that choice.

Defection brought with it a whole hosts of fall outs. He would be outcast and probably hunted and eliminated unless Waverly saw to it that the defection was in good standing.

It would also mean that his mother would be left to suffer further humiliation at the hands of his former employers. Unless Waverly could wrangle a ‘get out of jail free’ card (as the Americans say) for his mother, she was doomed. Illya would not impose that on her for his freedom. If his mother could not come to the West than her son would return to the East.

But...

Knowing Gaby, knowing Cowboy, there could be no going back. In the short time of knowing Napoleon and Gaby, and for that matter, Waverly, Illya was no longer the man he was just a few days ago. These three people had changed him to the core. Without even thinking about it, he was now a Pygmalion metaphor. Falling for a fiance he created, becoming friends with a decadent American, and welcoming the kindly noose of an English overlord. When had his harsh reality turn into a welcoming future? He didn’t see it coming and yet it was here. 

He didn’t see how it would be possible for him to erase his past. He couldn’t. It was and always would be. And, why would he want to? It allowed him to survive in a world where his father’s shame was his. His responsibility to erase and overcome. It meant that his present, and that of his mother, was at least in status quo. The past was done, the present accounted for, and the future...well know one could know what was on the horizon. In his line of work, it was likely that he would be dead before too long and all of this wouldn’t matter in the end.

Illya sighed heavily, finished his drink and approached the bedroom that they shared. He didn’t turn on the light or fully enter. He stood squarely in the doorway and whether or not he was facing his waterloo, the music or a firing squad (one never knew with Gaby), this had to be ironed out. Their ability to work together as partners required it. Their potential to become friends was worth it. Their future as maybe something more...well, Illya didn’t finish that thought. He took a deep breath before speaking.

“Gaby, I was doing my job. We all were. Is your betraying Solo and I any different than he and I chasing you? We all had a job to do. Solo’s was to get that introduction to the Vinceguerra’s through you to get to your father. Mine was to bring you in to get information from you that would lead us to your father. Yours was to betray Solo and I to get to your father.”

Emphasis on the word betrayal made Gaby flinch. She was glad that Illya had not turned on the light. 

He was right. Any of the actions required of them by their organizations could have resulted in any or all of them being killed. Such is the nature of the spy business. Gaby could be mad at Illya all she wanted (and she didn’t want to be), but the truth was what she wanted to hear and Illya had given it to her.

Was it his fault that he would have followed orders even if it resulted in her death? Was it her fault that she followed orders that could have (should have) easily resulted in his and Napoleon’s death? Was she any less liable than Illya was for the events that transpired? No, she determined. She was just as culpable as any of them for how things could have turned out.

As it was, fate had conspired for the sequence of events and their fall out to work to all of their advantages. 

She wasn’t killed by an agent of the KGB. Illya wasn’t killed by landing in the mine field at the wall. Again, Illya wasn’t killed when Napoleon could have shot him or when the boat exploded. Napoleon wasn’t killed by Uncle Rudy thanks to Illya. Gaby wasn’t killed by the Vinceguerra’s thanks to Illya and Napoleon. Yes, the Gods of Valhalla was certainly on their side.

The pent up anger that was feasting on Gaby was now deprived of its fire. Ilya had laid some hard truths on her and not the ones she was expecting. Why she felt the need to pin something on Illya, she wasn’t sure. He is Russian, after all, so he must be guilty.

Guilt by association. And then it hit Gaby. She herself would always be guilty by association. Not just by being the daughter of Udo Teller, but also by being the niece of a Nazi madman and torturer. It was a double whammy for her. Her father on one side and her mother’s brother on the other.

She reached over to turn on the light and then crossed her arms over her chest.

Gaby looked at him HARD. Hard enough that Illya flinched a tiny bit, but he didn’t look away. He needed for her to believe him as much as she wanted to believe him.

Yes, she believed him.

Tears welled up in Gaby’s eyes. Her pride and sense of strength had given way to a new reality. The dam broke and Gaby fell apart.

She cried. Oh, how she cried. She cried because her father left her and never came back. She cried because he replaced her with a fat little dog named Schnitzel. She cried because her mother (she died) left her to face the war alone. She cried because she found more to love in her stepfather than she ever did her real father. There was so much for her to cry about and for. Years of being strong and stoic finally met its boiling point.

And, she cried because she couldn’t hate Illya. The Russian that represented her incarceration after the war, was now her rescuer. She was a softer person than she was six days ago because of Illya.

He was polite in the face of all of her barbs. He was a gentleman even when she tried to ignore his efforts (they weren’t really efforts, it was just who he was). He was protective of her even when she fought him. Kind, gentle, considerate and polite. That was the Russian she tried to hate.

Illya Kuryakin was not the nightmare of the Russia that had invaded Germany after the war. And, she couldn’t continue to hold him responsible for his entire country’s treatment of German citizens. After all, Germany had started the whole thing. Illya wasn’t the enemy. He was...Oh Gott! The crying now turned to body felt wracks.

Illya walked over to Gaby’s bed and quietly sat on its edge so as not to startle her. He pulled her crying form into his lap and held her.

He held her while she cried. He didn’t offer words of comfort, tell her that everything was going to be alright, or shush her. He simply held her while she cried.

As the sobs were subsiding, Illya brushed the hair from her face, kissed the top of her head and laid his cheek down where he kissed her and then hugged her tighter. And although Gaby couldn’t be certain, if she wasn’t mistaken, she would swear that the top of her head was damp.

**Author's Note:**

> I have left Illya’s deeds or misdeeds as an operative to reader speculation. Being trained by the KGB and being their top agent would have to come with a heavy price and burden. He would be no angel by any means.


End file.
